


Dancing Through

by MewUniverse



Category: Asagao Academy: Normal Boots Club
Genre: 18 Years by Daughtry, Ballroom, Ballroom Dancing, Ballroom dance, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Dancing, F/M, Romance, Songfic, Super sappy stuff y'all, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 18:19:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14939432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MewUniverse/pseuds/MewUniverse
Summary: You're an Asagao Academy student practicing your half of a ballroom dance routine to the song "18 Years" by Daughtry. Partway through the song, the sparkling Jared swoops in and guides you through an impromptu dance. [Initially posted on Tumblr in 2016]





	Dancing Through

You stand in the empty gym. You lift your right arm and hold it at a ninety-degree angle as you tilt your left elbow and pretend to grasp someone’s shoulder. Your dance partner for the upcoming ballroom dance competition attends Higanbana High, and since you attend Asagao your schedules rarely line up to practice outside of weekends. At least you can practice some rumba on your own until Friday when your next practice with him is scheduled.

Soft piano notes drift through your ears. You take a long, deep breath.

_You sit down with an old friend_

_Like time has never stopped…_

The first verse plays, and you smile. Daughtry wasn’t your favorite band, but their song “18 Years” just struck you with its slow, melodic rumba rhythm and its nostalgic lyrics. By the end of the verse, you start gyrating your hips in a figure eight, just like you were taught. Quick-quick-slow… quick-quick-slow… Shoulders level with only the lower torso moving. You don’t have the separation of stillness and motion down perfectly yet, but you definitely have improved your hip gyration over the past month.

Then you step forward.

_All day, all night_

_Keep pressing rewind_

_All day, all night I remember…_

Through the chorus, you practice the basic rumba step—forward step, press and straighten the leg, bring the foot back to position, shift the hip. Backward step, press the foot down, straighten the leg, bring the foot back to position, shift the hip. Always drill yourself on the basics, you can hear your coach say in her deep, stern voice. That way, she said, you can better follow the man’s lead and better perform as an individual.

You change from stepping back and forth to stepping on either side of you. Two varieties of the same basic step—you needed to know both equally for the complicated performance routine you would rehearse with your partner.

_I will laugh, I will cry_

_‘Til there’s no more tears_

_Yeah tonight, can we just hold on_

_To those eighteen years?_

As the chorus ended and the next verse began, you began to dance that basic step in a circle. You envision yourself dancing in a circle around the imaginary partner you’ve conjured to practice with. You smile—this move was your favorite. The entire dance was sensual, but this step in particular was so intimate and romantic with how the man and the woman would dance so close together without actually touching.

The chorus rang out again as you began to dance the fan step. Grasping nonexistent hands, you swing out your left arm and step with your right foot towards the volleyball net, then return to center. With a swiveling of your hips, you swing out your right arm and step out with your left foot. Repeating the motions, you slide through the butterfly step several times, falling into the drum’s rhythm. Then, one time as you step to your right, you spin as if pushing off an invisible hand—

A real hand catches your right palm. You face a boy with a teal and grey jacket and a sparkling aura.

Jared Knabenbaur.

He takes your other hand. Your palms pressed against his, Jared curls his fingers around your hands and swivels his hips in a figure eight. He smiles, and your breath catches in your throat.

Pushing your left hand away, he pulls your right hand and swings out his right arm as you mirror him. He guides you through the fan movement several times. Somehow he uses just enough pressure to guide you without a single word. He spins you around in the Alemana and slides into closed position with his hand flat against your shoulder blade.

His eyes never break contact with your as you dance together in the basic rumba step. Your eyes widen as you realize—he knows this dance well, and boy can his hips move.

He steps back as your foot slides between his feet. You dance around him in a circle, your bodies centimeters apart. No longer are you concentrating on individual steps to perfect your technique—you just glide through the rumba as you follow Jared’s technique.

He spins you out before leading you into the fan again. Alemana, hockey stick, Cuban rocks—he leads you through step after step, then you lose track of what steps you’re actually dancing. His technique for leading is perfect—no matter how complicated the steps or how exaggerated the arm movements, you and him dance in perfect synchronization.

All without looking away from his stunning blue-grey eyes.

_Looking back in the rear view mirror_

_You know the view used to be much clearer_

_But we’ll laugh and we’ll cry_

_Till there’s no more tears_

_And tonight, can we just hold on to those 18 years?_

As you dance in a circle around him, Jared winks at you, and your heart races as you smile. Just as the song ends, Jared lowers you into a dip. You stretch out one arm, your hand brushing the ground, and lean your head back. Closing your eyes, your grin pinches your cheek muscles.

The song loops on itself. Jared slowly lifts you until you’re standing before him. “Your dancing was impeccable. Where did you learn to dance so smoothly?” he asks.

You clasp your hands behind your back. “Well, I’ve been taking dance classes since grade school. I only started competing last year.”

“Oh, you compete? That’s wonderful.” Jared sweeps his bangs off his eyebrows. “It explains the glow I saw around you when I came in.” He grins, his teeth glittering like the rest of him.

Your heart palpitates rapidly as you rub your neck. “Oh, um, thank you,” you stammer out. “H-how long have you been dancing? You’re super good at leading.”

Jared chuckles. “Oh, since grade school, like yourself. Unfortunately, I lack the time to compete and a partner to dance with.”

“That’s a shame. Any girl would love to compete with you.” You tug your ear nervously. “You’re an amazing dancer.”

Jared snatches your hand and holds it in his long, slender fingers. “No, YOU are an amazing dancer.” He kissed your knuckles. “Don’t forget it.” He winks.

You can’t help but giggle as you feel your face tingle. “Y-you’re too nice…” Yup, you’re blushing—but with how flirtatious he was acting, you couldn’t help it.

Something beeps. Jared drops your hand and slides his phone out of his jacket. “Well, unfortunately, I have an appointment I must keep,” he says as he turns off his alarm. “What days do you practice here?”

“Every day at five o’clock,” you reply, clutching the hand he kissed to your chest. “The next ballroom showcase is in a few weeks.”

“Perfect.” He pockets his phone. “May I join you again tomorrow, perchance? Dance is better practiced with a partner, after all, and I would hate to see a young lady like yourself unable to improve her technique.” He smiles, showcasing his perfect teeth.

You bob your head vigorously. “Definitely. I would greatly appreciate the help. My partner can only practice with me on weekends.”

“Wonderful.” He bows. “I’ll see you later, then.” He turns and strides out the open door.

Once he is out of sight, you dash to where your mp3 player is hooked up to your speaker. Jared Knabenbaur—THE Jared—noticed you and dance with you! Your hands shake with excitement.

You check the time as you turn off the music—wow, was it really already six? You had homework to go finish!

As you leave the gym, still faintly woozy from your impromptu rumba routine, a thought strikes you. Jared was extremely popular, so naturally you knew his name—but you never told him your name. With a smile, you resolve to make sure he remembers your name as well as he knows your dance skill.

Tomorrow afternoon couldn’t come fast enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I normally don’t write reader-insert fics OR lyric fics, and since this is both, I had initially submitted it to an Imagine blog (imaginenormalblock) on Tumblr before cross-posting it here.


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